


wait for me (i'm coming)

by ghostquartets



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, M/M, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Relationship(s), Timeline What Timeline, yes the title is from hadestown hush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostquartets/pseuds/ghostquartets
Summary: AU || JJ confesses something different in 14x15. This sends Spencer to find the man who he thought he had lost.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Comments: 16
Kudos: 216





	wait for me (i'm coming)

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, my first Criminal Minds fic! Thank you to CJ for letting me bounce ideas off of you.   
> I also wrote this without seeing anything past season 11, so sorry for any inconsistencies!

_ The unsub pushes JJ to her knees. “Last chance. Something you would never say aloud. Not even to your partner here. You’re deepest, darkest secret.” _

_ Spencer tries to send JJ a message with his eyes, even though she refuses to look at him.  _ Lie, JJ. C’mon, just lie.  _ He can’t cut through the tape around his wrists fast enough. _

_ “Impress me, or I kill him.” The unsub moves the gun so it’s pointed right at Spencer’s head.  _

_ JJ turns then, looks at Spencer with tears in her eyes. And that confuses Spencer. Why is she looking at Spencer with… regret? _

_ The unsub yells, “C’mon!” JJ bows her head.  _

_ After a moment, JJ raises her head and smiles sadly. “Spence…  _ He’s always been in love with you. Hotch has been in love with you for years.”

Spencer falters in cutting at the tape around his wrists. No, he must not have heard right. She must have said something else. Maybe she’s in love with him; that would make more sense, and he wouldn’t be feeling this new ache in his chest.

JJ bows her head again, and the unsub laughs. “That’s what I’m talking about!” But then he raises his gun again. “But sadly, not good enough.”

Spencer wants to tell him to wait, to shut up because he still doesn’t understand what JJ just said, just confessed. Not Hotch, not the man who he has been trying not to think about for months. But then he feels the tape break, and without a moment’s hesitation, he draws his gun and fires.

The unsub falls, and in the silence following the gunshot JJ and Spencer look at each other, neither knowing what to say. The silence continues as the two rise and Spencer frees JJ’s own wrists; the silence meets the team when they finally arrive.

XX

Neither JJ or Spencer bring it up until Rossi’s wedding.

It’s fun, because of course it is. Everyone is together, and laughing and dancing. But Spencer knows that he has a tightness in his eyes, that his mind is a million miles away, back to the unsub and JJ’s confession and the blast of the gun.

No one approaches him about his mood, even though he’s sure enough of them have noticed. They all know him too well, know that his mind is going a million miles a minute. 

But he’s standing alone at the bar when JJ approaches him, looking radiant in her red dress but with her eyes holding the same regret as before.

“Hey, Spence.” She says it softly and with great care, as if she is expecting him to push her away.

“Hey.” He answers. A drink is put in front of him, and when JJ is offered one she shakes her head. “You having fun?”

“Can we… talk?”

“What is there to talk about?”

“About what I said, with the unsub. Look, Spence…”

And there it is, that hurt in his chest. “You were just lying, right? By my calculations, there was an 85% chance that whatever you said wasn’t going to appeal to the unsub, so you decided to choose the most out-there confession. I get it, I don’t hold a grudge.”

“Did you think I was lying?” JJ sounds almost angry now, and exasperated.

The ache in his chest grows. “We haven’t talked about… him in months. What other explanation is there?”

JJ scoffs. “You know Spencer, for a certified genius you can be pretty stupid sometimes.”

Spencer thinks of asking her a question that he has asked himself a lot recently: If Hotch cared so much, how did he leave so easily? Instead, he says, “He didn’t… not like that. He couldn’t.” He was trying to convince himself now, he knew. 

“I’ve known you both for years. I watched the way he looked at you, took care of you. And I saw the way you looked at him, Spence, and I guess I thought–”

“No, you didn’t think, Jennifer.” Spencer’s voice was harsh, and he knew he probably sounded like a dick, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t go down this road again, couldn’t think  _ What if he loved me, too? _

JJ reels back in shock at his tone and backtracks. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” Spencer takes his drink and leaves JJ standing at the bar alone.

XX

Spencer goes home to a dark, empty apartment. That isn’t unusual, he’s been going back home to that for years, but somehow that night it felt more lonely than usual.

He turns on the lights to reveal the stacks of books and papers strewn around this living room. He knew he needed to clean, but he was putting it off.

He turns to look at the bookshelves that took up the entirety of one of the walls of his living room. He would need to go through it all eventually, and maybe Luke and Penelope will come over to help and make a day out of it. 

Without thinking, Spencer walks over to the shelf on the far right, closest to the window. It’s the shelf where he puts books that he buys and means to read, but there are also gifted books sprinkled in the mix. He immediately goes to the third shelf from the bottom, two books from the middle in between a physicist's memoir and a book about Russian tsars and plucks out the book he was going for. 

It’s not an especially eye-catching edition of Wuthering Heights: paperback with French flaps, muted colors. But the art on the cover is of two people, obviously meant to be Hearhcliffe and Catherine, and he is looking up at her in reverence, and she is looking into the distance somewhere above him. 

Spencer moves to his couch, moving the various papers and his laptop out of the way. He takes off his shoes and curls up in the corner, turning open the book to the title page where he knew there was writing in a pristine black pen. 

_ Spencer -  _

_ You told Gideon once that you didn’t own a copy of Wuthering Heights — I think you said you always read your mother’s copy. I saw this edition in a bookstore and thought of you. You don’t have to read it, but it may be nice to have, just in case you find yourself in the mood.  _

_ All the best, Hotch _

Spencer remembers the day Hotch gave it to him. Well,  _ gave _ is perhaps not the right word. Spencer had arrived at work after the team took a long weekend vacation to see the book on his desk, placed in front of his computer like it was always there. 

“ _ You had time to go book shopping this weekend? I thought you were hunkering down to finish some papers?” Blake had said as she sat at her desk opposite Spencer’s. Spencer had looked up quickly and shut the book so the note was hidden.  _

_ “Ahh, no,” he said quickly. She raised her eyebrows at him. “I mean, I did stay mostly at home. I finished my paper on dynamical systems and my other one got accepted into a journal. But, um, this was a gift, I think. From Hotch.” _

_ Alex nodded slowly. “Well, that was nice of him.” She turned on her computer and smiled. “I remember when James used to give me poetry books when we were both in grad school. I would make little notes in them and give them back to him.” _

_ Spencer blushed and tried to keep from stealing a glance at Hotch’s office, where the man was just visible at his desk through the blinds. “He gave you poetry?” _

_ Alex laughed. “Yes, he was terrible at writing it himself. He said he trusted the greats more than himself to say the right thing.” _

_ Spencer felt something he couldn’t explain build in his chest, and as Alex turned to her computer, he looked at Hotch’s figure through the window. He wanted to go up there, to say thank you. He wanted to ask if Hotch liked Wuthering Heights, or maybe he was a Pride and Prejudice fan? Spencer let himself imagine conversations with Hotch over tea or dinner as he gently placed the book in his bag, and started his day. _

Spencer fingers the pages of the book now, feeling the pages flutter. He never did get around to asking Hotch about why he bought the book. It was always an unspoken secret with them, and Spencer kept it close to his chest. 

Overcome with emotion, and maybe feeling a bit lonely, Spencer opens the book and starts reading. 

XX

The next morning, Spencer is pacing in his apartment. 

He hadn’t slept the night before. He had finished Wuthering Heights in about four hours; it definitely wasn’t his fastest reading speed, but he felt himself wanting to savor every word on the page. He was searching for something in those words. He pictured the story as it would be read by Hotch, his deep voice carrying the story. He was trying to say something, but what? What did he want Reid to know?

_ Hotch has been in love with you for years. _

Spencer shakes his head as he paces. No, JJ was wrong. She had been wrong before, she had lied to him before. But she didn’t do that anymore, she promised.

_ I saw this edition in a bookstore and thought of you. _

Spencer thinks about Hotch more than he would like to admit, always has. His stern face, his brown eyes, the way sometimes he didn’t put gel in his hair so it fell softly on his forehead.

_ Does he think about me? _

No, he probably doesn’t, Spencer reprimands himself. He left, gone quicker than even Gideon. And with Scratch gone, he was out of WitSec, but Rossi had told them plainly that Hotch wasn’t coming back, was done with the BAU and a dangerous life.

_ Done with me. _

Spencer glances at his phone. Garcia probably knows where Hotch is now, especially now that he’s out of WitSec. It would take her twenty minutes, tops. But she would also ask questions, and Spencer didn’t know if he could give her any answers.

So that strikes out Garcia, and honestly anyone on the team. But Spencer has to know, has to know if he had missed out on something so big. He picks up his phone and unlocks it, ignoring the missed call and text from JJ. He taps the screen mindlessly for a bit, going over statistics from WitSec, narrowing down where Hotch could be, if he even was still where he had been hidden, when a thought crossed his mind.

Jessica would know.

Jessica Brooks hadn’t gone into WitSec with Hotch and Jack. It was easier moving just two people, so she had stayed behind and continued with her normal life with a constant security unit watching her every move and strict instructions to not contact anyone on the team under any circumstances.

Spencer hasn’t spoken to Jessica in a long time, but that does not stop him from typing in her number (a number he had only called once, before, to let her know that Hotch would be late picking up Jack because he got pulled into a meeting). Spencer doesn’t hesitate to hit the call button, but a ball of anxiety starts to form in his stomach when it begins to ring.

After the fourth ring, Spencer begins to think that Jessica changed her number (plausible) or that she saw who was calling and is ignoring it (even more plausible). He is about to hang up and go make some coffee when the other line picks up and he hears a familiar voice say, “Hello?”

Spencer is taken back to Haley’s funeral, at that moment. It was the first time he had ever spoken to Jessica, and despite the fact she had just lost her only sibling in such a horrible way, she had spoken to him with kindness and given him a smile that reminded Spencer surprisingly of his own mother, back before she got really sick.

“Hello?” Jessica asks again, this time more hesitant.

“Hi,” Spencer says, but his voice cracks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hi, um, is this Jessica? Brooks?”

“Yes. Who is this?” She sounds apprehensive, which is fair.

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid. Um, I worked with Hotch, or, uh Aaron. At the BAU.”

“Oh, Spencer.” There’s relief in her voice, but also surprise. “Hi, God, I didn’t even recognize your voice. How are you? Is everything okay?”

“No, no, everything’s fine. And I’m good, uh…” Spencer trails off. This was stupid, he knows. He shouldn’t have called. He shouldn’t be doing this, digging up old graves. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Okay…” And Spencer can understand the hesitation. What could he possibly want from Jessica, someone he only knows tangentially? 

“Um, you wouldn’t happen to have Hotch’s current location? Or address. I uh… kinda need it.”

There, it was out there. Spencer shifts on his feet, too nervous to sit. He feels his fingers rub against each other, and tries to find comfort in the feeling of skin on skin.

“You want… I’m sorry, can I ask why?”

Yeah, he should have expected that. “It’s uh… It’s an emergency, kind of.”

“An emergency, kind of?” Jessica sighs. “Look, Dr. Reid. I like you, so I’m gonna be blunt. Hotch got outta there for a reason. He has a life outside of the BAU now, and he likes it that way. I like it that way. So whatever trouble you’re trying to get him back into, I’m not going to let you drag him into it.”

“That’s not…” Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his fingers harder together. “I’m not getting him involved in anything, I just, God, I need to see him. Please, just let me see him.”

Silene on the other end. “Dr. Reid…”

“Look, I know you want to protect him. I get it, I really do. But you have to understand that I wouldn’t have reached out to you if it wasn’t important.”

Spencer listens to Jessica breathe on the other end. He waits patiently, though he’s already thinking ahead to what he is going to do when Jessica denies him. Rossi may be able to help him, and wouldn’t ask too many questions, but he would probably guess what was going on because he always did. Spencer was in the middle of concocting a story that would throw Rossi off of his tail when Jessica says, “This isn’t about any unsub stuff, you swear?”

Spencer is shocked into almost silence, then says, “No, no, I promise you. No unsubs, no victims, no profiling, it’s just me. I just need to know where he is.”

Another pause, and then, “Alright. But if I find out you dragged him into anything even remotely related to serial killers, it’s on your head.” Then she hangs up. And yeah, Spencer can see why Hotch trusted Jessica with not only his life, but with Jack.

Before he can question how he’s supposed to get the information, his phone rings with the notification that he got a text. It’s from Jessica’s number with an address in… Colorado. 

Spencer immediately goes to his couch and opens his laptop, looking at the next available flight out of Dulles. 

XX

When he finally arrives at Hotch’s doorstep, it’s raining. 

This isn’t surprising; the area is known for its heavy rain shower around this time of year. But in his haste, Spencer didn’t bring a rain jacket, and his shirt is soaked and his socks are squishing uncomfortably in his shoes. 

He stands on the steps, looking at the door. He doesn’t even know if Hotch is home. He could be at work, or out with Jack. It was stupid for Spencer to show up here. 

But that doesn’t stop his arm from rising and his finger from pushing the doorbell. 

He hears footsteps, then nothing. What seems like an eternity goes by and at first, he thinks he imagined it, that no one is home or he has the wrong address.

And then the click of the locks disengaging, then the door opening, then there’s Aaron Hotchner standing in the doorway, shock evident on his face. 

Spencer’s face must have an identical look. But it’s Hotch, standing there, looking almost exactly like he did the last day Spencer saw him. 

But no, he’s different. He’s filled out his clothes more, his hair is maybe a bit more gray. His face looks softer now, and his shoulders are relaxed. There are glasses sitting on top of his head and he’s wearing casual clothes. He looks like a different version of his unit chief. 

Spencer stares, and thinks maybe he should say hello, comment on the weather because dammit it’s really coming down now. But instead what comes out is: “Is it true?”

More confusion. Hotch’s mouth opens and closes again, trying to put together what sequence of events could lead Spencer Reid to his doorstep. But Spencer asks again, “Is it true? Did you love me and just… let me go?”

Hotch is shocked. He just stands there, unsure of what to say. How did Spencer even find him?  _ How did he find out? _ Hotch had perfected hiding his feelings. He had years to get it right. and now here Spencer was, undoing all of the work Hotch had done to keep those feelings from ever seeing the light of day. And Spencer speaks again: “I just... can you tell me? Please? I have to know.” And when his voice cracks, Hotch feels the ringing in his ears subside. 

He answers with, “How’d you find out?” 

Spencer gives a humorless chuckle. “JJ, surprisingly. Guess she always knew and saw everything.” And there’s silence again as Spencer nervously fingers the strap of his satchel. Hotch doesn't know whether to curse JJ or thank her. Either way, he knows seeing Spencer has awoken something he thought he buried when he left Quantico. 

So maybe that’s why Hotch says “Come inside, you’re soaked.” Spencer hesitates, looking like he is seriously considering standing out in the rain like a lost dog. 

Spencer pauses, then asks, “And then you’ll tell me?” Hotch nods, then ushers him inside.

When they get inside, it's awkward, of course. What do you say? After a few moments, Hotch clears his throat and says “There’s a bathroom with, uh, some towels. And I guess I can get you some clothes? If you want them? At least until your clothes dry.” Spencer nods because he doesn’t trust his voice. He follows Hotch’s directions and goes to the bathroom down the hall and dries off, and Hotch leaves him dry clothes ( _ his clothes _ ) to change into. When Spencer is done, he goes out and finds Hotch sitting in the living room on the couch. Before Spencer can repeat his original question, Hotch asks, “Do you remember that first day we met?”

Spencer startles, because of course he does. But he sits on the large chair next to the couch, and waits for Hotch to speak. “I remember you were wearing a red sweater, and a tie that was a little too big. Gideon had told me about you beforehand of course, but it hit me then how  _ young  _ you were. And I thought ‘This job is gonna ruin him. His life will be ruined before it even started.’”

Spencer looks down at his hands, at his fingers that are playing with a loose hem of the long t-shirt Hotch gave him. Maybe this job  _ did _ ruin him. Maybe he should have said no to Gideon all those years ago. But before he can go down that road of thinking Hotch speaks again “And you were always reminding me how young you were. Not on purpose, but in the things you said, in what you did. And I loved everything about it. And I thought, I can't ruin him too.”

This pushes Spencer to speak. “You didn’t ruin me.” 

Hotch snorts. It’s humorless, and filled with years, decades even, of self-loathing. “Yeah, I made sure of it. I tried to protect you from everything, even me, because...” and he trails off, and there are so many things and people that hang in the silence that follows. It's Spencer that breaks it. 

“All that time, and you never told me. You left, and didn’t tell me.” 

“I didn’t want to leave,” Hotch answers. It’s weak, he knows, but it’s the truth. “I wanted to stay, but it wasn’t safe. I had to think about Jack. He couldn’t lose another parent.”

It makes sense, Spencer knows it does. And he hates that it was the right decision for Hotch to have made. Spencer changes gears and asks Hotch, “How long?” 

Hotch thinks for a minute, then responds “Since the beginning.” Spencer is shocked. How could someone love him when he was a lanky skinny barely 20 something?

“I think…. you were always in the corner of my mind. I didn’t know that it was love, in the very beginning. I was still with…” 

Hotch trails off, but Spencer can feel Haley’s presence in the absence of her name. Can almost see her, too: blonde hair, an easy smile like she was about to tell you a secret, her body always turned toward Hotch. Gideon had told Spencer about how the two had met. High school sweethearts, stayed together through college and law school for Hotch. Reid had responded with a bleak statistic about divorce rates for people who married their partner from high school or college. Gideon had smiled and just said “Well, I guess we’ll see.”

Spencer can see the pain in Hotch’s eyes even after all these years. And it wasn’t the same, but Spencer can guess that it’s the same pain he shows when he talks about Maeve. 

Silence hangs between them once again. Neither of them know how to do this, how to be bare and raw in front of someone who has seen the worst of you. 

“I think the reason I didn’t tell you is because… I had convinced myself that loving you at a distance was good enough for me.” Hotch’s head hung down over his clasped hands, almost like he was at confession. 

Spencer tried to catch up. Three PhDs, numerous bachelor’s degrees, and his mind was still a jumbled mess. What did he miss? How good at his job could he be that he didn’t notice his boss (friend?) was in love with him? He spent most of his time watching Hotch, cataloging his every move, and yet he somehow missed this. 

Spencer needed to clear his head, and to do that he would need caffeine. “Do you have coffee?”

Hotch looks up, and what could only be described as relief flashes across his face. “Yes, of course. I’ll make us both some. Do you want something to eat too?”

Spencer shakes his head. Hotch rises from the sofa, knees creaking softly as he does. He grimaces a bit, but when his eyes meet Spencer’s they both chuckle. Confident Spencer won’t disappear as quickly as he arrived, Hotch leaves for the kitchen. 

XX

Hotch’s glasses sit softly on his nose as he eyes his Keurig pod collection. 

He doesn’t know what Spencer would want. Probably the one that boasted two times the caffeine of a normal pod, but Hotch didn’t want to hype him up too much. Hotch briefly thought about firing up the old coffee maker that he knew was in one of the cabinets, but he resisted when he remembered how excited Spencer was when Prentiss sent a brand new Keurig machine from England for the team. 

He settles on a simple medium roast, and sets up the cup to brew. He told Reid he also wanted a cup, but it was the last thing that his racing heart needed. 

God, Hotch didn’t know how he got here. Halfway across the country in a town he didn’t choose, hosting Spencer Reid in a house that didn’t feel like his and having to confess, because of Jennifer Jareau of all people, that he has been in love with his (much younger, much too good for him) teammate for years. 

If someone had told Hotch that Spencer had found out, he would’ve guessed that it was Rossi who spilled the beans. He didn’t know who exactly on the team had caught onto his feelings, but Rossi was the only one who actually confronted him about it. 

_ “Morgan says the kid is talking, responding to the drugs well.” _

_ Hotch grunts in response to David’s update. Flashing his badge had gotten him a small conference room to use for the next few hours until Reid had stabilized from the anthrax poisoning. Though Hotch had told the team that they could use the room to rest and get started on case reports, he was the only one using it as such. Prentiss had gone to the hospital cafeteria to get food, JJ was somewhere calling Will and Garcia to give them updates. And Morgan was with Reid.  _

_ Rossi continues as he takes a seat across from Hotch at the table. He pays no mind to the files Hotch is buried in. “He gave us quite the scare. You doing okay?” _

_ Hotch doesn’t look up. “He’s going to be fine. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” _

_ Rossi taps his fingers together. He notices how Hotch’s hand that grips his pen is shaking slightly. “You almost lost someone very important. Even worse, you almost lost him before you could tell him how important he is.” _

_ Hotch’s head snaps up at that.  _

_ Rossi chuckles. “You forget how well I know you, Aaron.” When Hotch doesn’t say anything, Rossi pushes harder. “You love him.”  _

_ Hotch considers fighting it, considers getting up and walking away, but it would be no use. He’s tired and he can feel a headache coming on, and there’s no way he can outsmart the man who taught him most of what he knows about profiling. “But I can’t.” His voice is small, defeated.  _

_ “But you do, and now you have to decide what you’re gonna do about it.” The way Rossi says it, it sounds like the easiest thing in the world. But the thought of approaching Spencer, telling him how he really feels makes anxiety swirl in Hotch’s stomach.  _

_ “Dave, there’s nothing to do. I can’t… I can’t even protect him.” _

_ “You’re right you can’t.” Rossi leans forward, punctuating what he says next by his close proximity to the unit chief. “But Aaron, holding all of that inside you, it might just kill you.” _

_ “Maybe,” Hotch says. He looks Rossi in the eye, and the older man shivers at the pure exhaustion that exists in his stare. “But right now, Reid doesn’t need me.” _

_ “I don’t think that’s true.” Hotch looks back at the paperwork in front of him. “Dave… he can do better than me. He needs to do better. And if he can find that happiness, that will be enough for me.” _

“Hotch.”

Hotch startles as a cold hand touches his own. He jerks back on impulse, pulled out of the memory. There is Spencer, looking at him with confusion and worry. “You okay? You were gone for a while and I…” His hand hovers near Hotch’s arm, as if he wants to comfort but doesn’t know if it’s okay. 

Hotch gives a sad smile. “No, you’re fine. I just— um, sorry. Your coffee is done.”

“Do you have cream?”

Hotch nods. “Fridge, top shelf next to the orange juice.”

Spencer goes over to the stainless steel refrigerator, his eyes only glancing at the few pictures hung on it with magnets. There’s one of Jack of course, and a picture of Haley and Jessica from what looks like college. No pictures of the team, and Spencer ignores the sting he feels in his heart.

After he gets the cream, he turns around back to Hotch, who is still leaning on the counter but has now brought out a container of what Spencer would guess is sugar. “Where’s Jack?”

“Overnight school trip. Camping in a National Forest for a science class.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows in surprise as he fixes his cup of coffee: too much cream and sugar, as always. “I’m shocked you let him go.”

Hotch looks almost sheepish then. “Yeah, well. He can be very convincing.”

Spencer smiled, remembering how Jack had Hotch wrapped around his finger. Perhaps it was because Hotch was making up for his own father’s shortfalls, or because he feared becoming a father his own son hated. Either way, Spencer knew there was little Hotch wouldn’t do if Jack didn’t ask.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” Spencer asks, looking down at the spoon stirring his tea. It was a force of habit to stir even when everything was mixed together; he hated feeling the granules of sugar in his mouth. 

“What?” There’s almost a tinge of anger in Hotch’s voice. Spencer can feel a shiver down his spine. He hated to admit it, but it was something he missed about Hotch, the anger bubbling just below the surface, the intensity of his emotions. Even when he was yelling at an unsub or getting into a staring match with a pushy LEO, you couldn’t look away.

“It’s a natural reason,” Spencer answers. He still does not look up from his coffee, though he has stopped stirring. “Plenty of parents don’t date or pursue relationships after a loss because of their child. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“That’s not– Spencer,  _ look at me _ .” And it’s that voice, that commanding voice that would grab (and has grabbed) Spencer’s attention across a crowded room, that forces the doctor to whip his head up to meet Hotch’s eyes.

Hotch’s gaze is more intense than Spencer remembers, if that’s possible. His brown eyes look like they can see all of Spencer at once. And there’s that feeling again, that shiver down his spine and the burning in his chest. When was the last time anyone looked at Spencer like that?

“I didn’t– couldn’t tell you for a lot of reasons. It just… it was easier. I could have my feelings and keep them to myself and also watch you live your life separate from me.”

It was a shit reason. It didn’t explain the fact why JJ of all people had to tell him that Aaron Hotchner had been in love with him for over a decade.

“Why did you never give us a chance?” He’s begging now. He wants, no, needs to know why Hotch would keep this from him. He thought after everything, after Emily and Doyle and Paris, they had been done with secrets. 

“It’s too late now.” It’s a shit response; Hotch knows it. But it’s all he can give without breaking his chest open and giving Spencer everything inside of it.

“Is it?”

Hotch looks shocked, and Spencer doesn’t know what exactly possessed him to say that. Why had he come here anyway? What had compelled him to travel to Colorado to chase down a maybe, a hypothetical? 

“Spencer…”

“No, I’m sorry that– that wasn’t fair to say.”

Hotch’s response is measured and careful. “No it’s… an unfair situation.”

Silence reigns again as the two men stand in the kitchen. Spencer sips his coffee and Hotch looks out the window above the sink, which provides a view of the side of the house where his car is parked. He can just about see his neighbor’s gray cat napping in the window sill of the next house over.

“Stay for dinner?”

“What?”

Hotch turns around, looking sheepish, a look Spencer never thought he would see on his face, much less directed at him. “Not like, I mean, God.” Hotch takes a breath and turns to face Spencer fully. “You traveled all this way, and it’s raining, and you shouldn’t go back out tonight. I have soup and bread for dinner. We can watch a movie on the couch or something and catch up. It’s… it’s been a while, since I’ve spent time with anyone other than Jack.” And that was perhaps the closest Aaron Hotchner would ever get to admitting that he’s lonely.

Spencer looks out into the rain, which hadn’t let up in the slightest. It hit him then that he hadn’t even bought a return ticket back to Virginia. And he didn’t have a hotel booked here, either. The only real thing about all of this was the man standing in the kitchen with him, offering a bowl of soup and nostalgia.

“Sure,” he says with a smile. And his smile grows when Hotch lets a rare smile of his own grace his face.

Dinner is a simple affair. Hotch had made a chicken noodle soup that reminded Spencer of sick days sitting at his desk at Quantico. Hotch tasks him with warming the bread, which Hotch admitted he bought at the local farmers market. Spencer is still wearing Hotch’s clothes, but Hotch doesn’t mention getting his clothes from wherever they were being dried, so Spencer didn’t mention it either. Besides, he likes how soft and warm the shirt was, and how the sleeves fell to cover up to the top of his fingers.

While the two were silent while they were preparing the food, they held an easy conversation once they had set themselves up to eat on the couch where their meeting began. Spencer updated Hotch on the team, and even showed him pictures of Hank, Henry, and Michael. Hotch tells Spencer that he now teaches pre-Law classes at the local community college and gives lectures about his work with the FBI. He tells Spencer that Jack had a hard time adjusting at first, but when Hotch told him about his decision to leave the team permanently, he settled down and forged his own path. As they exchanged stories and filled their stomachs, the rain outside died down, revealing a sunset that bathed the room in a golden glow. Even though he was filled with stories and heavy food, Spencer felt lighter than he had in years.

Spencer was in the middle of a story about Luke, Rossi, and a feral cat when he interrupted himself with a large yawn. He blushes, because it’s barely 7 in the evening and he can already feel the lack of sleep getting to him. 

“You’re tired.” It isn’t a question, and Hotch moves to take Spencer’s empty bowl and plate to stack on his own to start the cleanup process. But Spencer hugs the bowl closer to his chest.

“No, no it’s fine. I just–” Another yawn interrupts him, this one bigger than the last.

“Spencer, I know you. A couple more minutes and you’ll be asleep. C’mon, I have a guest room you can sleep in.”

Spencer hesitates, just for a moment. But it’s only long enough for him to think,  _ Screw it _ . “Okay, that sounds… nice.”

Hotch gives him that soft smile again, and this time he gets crinkles around his eyes, and Spencer’s heart races just a little bit, but enough for him to notice. 

“Well come on. We can clean up and then head to bed. I know traveling makes you exhausted.” Because of course, Hotch would remember that.

Cleaning up is easy, and before Spencer knows it he’s standing in the guest room of the Hotchner house. It’s simple, with a queen-sized bed and cream walls. There’s a television on the dresser, and Hotch points out that the bathroom is right across the hall. 

“I can get you towels, and a toothbrush. And the sheets here are clean, I just washed them. If you need more blankets I can go–”

Spencer smiles, because he’s surprisingly missed this, the way Hotch takes care of people so efficiently. “Thank you, Hotch.”

Hotch looks at him, and a look Spencer can’t place flashes across his face. “It’s really no problem I’m… I’m glad you’re here.” They stare at each other again, brown eyes meeting brown eyes, and the room suddenly feels much smaller. Hotch clears his throat. “Um, your clothes are dry, but you probably don’t want to sleep in them. I can get you pajamas you can wear, if you want.”

Spencer nods. “Yeah, that’d be great. I’m just gonna... go use the bathroom.”

“Of course. I’ll leave the clothes outside the door.”

The two men move at the same time toward the bedroom door out to the hallway and end up bumping into each other. It’s only a moment, a brushing of arms, but it sends sparks down Spencer’s body. He looks up to see if Hotch felt it too, but Hotch has already mumbled an apology and moved past the door and into the hallway, towards the master bedroom.

Spencer stands in shock for a minute, but quickly shakes his head. He probably imagined it. He’s tired, and a hot shower sounds like exactly what he needs. He heads across the hall to the bathroom, where he finds a simple but nice shower, sink, and toilet. He ignores the mirror out of habit and quickly turns the shower on before stripping off his (Hotch’s) clothes. The moment he steps into the shower, he feels bliss. His muscles relax and he lets out a soft moan. He didn’t realize how tense he had been all day. 

Spencer lets his mind wander, as he always does. He imagines every day like this; getting home from work at a normal time, having dinner that leaves him full, sharing conversation with Hotch… But when did Hotch become part of this dream life?

When his shower is done, he wraps a towel around his body and out of habit looks around for clothes, before remembering that Hotch said he would leave some outside for him. But a peek out of the bathroom shows that there is nothing there, not on the floor or on the small table in the hallway. Spencer panics, before deciding to be an adult and to go find clothes himself. Maybe Hotch went downstairs and forgot. 

Spencer sees that the door to the guest room has been propped open, even though he had turned it shut when he left before, so he moves to it, fully expecting to find the clothes Hotch will give him on the bed or dresser. But when he enters the room, the clothes are there, but so is Hotch, standing with his back to Spencer but looking down at something in his hands. Spencer moves forward, further into the room, and Horch turns around, giving Spencer the chance to look at what grabbed Hotch’s attention: the copy of Wuthering Heights.

Spencer hadn’t meant to bring it, per se. But he hated being on a plane with nothing to read, so he had done what he always did before getting on a flight, for work or otherwise, and grabbed the book he was currently on. In this case, it was that damned Wuthering Heights.

Hotch and Spencer stare at each other. Hotch’s fingers had the book propped open to the note he had written all those years ago, and Spencer is standing in nothing but a towel. Both men blushed.

“Um, I–” Spencer stutters, unsure what to say. “You, uh, said you would leave the clothes outside.”

“Yeah, I did, sorry.” Hotch gestures to the clothes, folded neatly on the bed; the clothes Spencer wore earlier, now dry from the rain, were folded up too. “Sorry, I decided that you wouldn’t want the clean clothes on the floor. And then I saw this on the top of your bag and… I didn’t know you still had it.”

“You saw it in a bookstore and thought of me,” Spencer says, recalling the note. 

Hotch smiles; it’s a soft one, but it makes the warm feeling return to Spencer’s chest. “It’s silly, looking back now. But, this was one of my favorite books when I was in undergrad. Read it maybe five times by the time I graduated. And, I don’t know, the story, the themes…. Maybe part of it reminded me of you and me.”

Spencer opens his mouth in shock. He wants to ask what Hotch means by that, but instead what comes out is: “ _If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger_.”

Hotch closes the book with a chuckle. “I missed that, you being able to quote books and reports like nothing. I think… I hoped you would understand. But at the same time, I hoped you never would.”

Spencer grips the towel tighter. He did think of Hotch when he was reading it. He thought of the two of them, of what their relationship would have been like if either had said something; would it have ended in disaster?

Hotch seems to come back to himself. “You’re tired. I’ll leave you to get dressed and go to bed. I’ll be up for a little while longer if you need anything.” He sets the book down on the dresser, his hand big enough to almost cover the entire thing. He brushes past Spencer with a tight smile, and he goes to the room at the end of the hall that must be the master bedroom. 

After changing into the pajamas (so warm, so comfortable, so  _ Hotch _ ), Spencer lays in bed. For the first time since he left home, he checks his messages. There are of course messages from the team in the group chat, telling him that he hopes he’s safe. There are a few individual messages, too. Luke sends a simple message letting Spencer know that he’s always available to talk, and Emily somehow conveys her dry tone in the message that lets him know his impromptu vacation time has been approved. 

He leaves JJ’s for last. 

It’s short, and to the point. Just a simple “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have put that on you. Let me know you’re okay. Love you.”

Spencer shoots quick responses to Luke and Emily, knowing they’ll let the rest of the team know he’s ok. With JJ, his fingers hover over the keyboard. What does he say to that? “Thank you for telling me, I actually tracked Hotch down and I think I may feel something for him too?” No, that wouldn’t work. And it would probably make JJ worry more, which would make Penelope and Emily worry, which would then send the whole team after him. 

Who knew having a big overprotective family could be so annoying. 

He settles on a “We can talk when I get back, but I’m okay. Love you too.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, and instead turns off his phone and shuts off the lights, falling asleep in a strange house down the hall from a man who could never be a stranger. 

xx

The nightmares don’t surprise him anymore, but that doesn't make them any less terrifying. 

They usually have to do with his mother, or Gideon, or Tobias Hankel if he sinks into a depressive episode, but tonight’s is about Maeve. 

It almost shocks Spencer, because he hadn't dreamt of her in a while. 

In the dream, they’re in Rossi’s house of all places, but the man is nowhere in sight. Maeve is in a simple beige dress, and her hair is in a ponytail. She is facing the fireplace, her back to Spencer. 

Spencer tries to move toward her, to touch her, like he always does in dreams like this. And like always, he cannot move from his place a couple feet away from her. So close, but never close enough.  _ Not enough time _ . 

“ _ I tried to protect you. _ ”

“What?” Spencer asks. Protect him? No, he couldn’t protect her. 

“ _ I couldn’t ruin you. I couldn’t let this job ruin you. _ ”

“Maeve…” Those weren’t her words. 

“ _ It’s always been him. Since the beginning. _ ” She turns around now, and her face is so much like the first and only time he saw it that it makes him want to cry. 

“I don’t… Maeve we have to go, come on. I can get you somewhere safe.”

“ _ No _ .” She’s almost angry. “ _ We’re trying to protect you. _ ”

The scene shifts, and then they’re not in Rossi’s house but in a house that has been pulled from the recesses of Reid’s memory. It’s familiar, even though Spencer had only been to it a handful of times. There was the kitchen, and Jack’s playroom, and the desk Haley had in the living room that had her computer and… 

Suddenly he’s moving up the stairs, and he’s trying so hard to fight it, to stay with Maeve and warn her and protect her. 

But then Spencer is in a room, and there’s blood. There’s blood and there’s Hotch, choking and bloody and God why can’t Spencer reach him, he’s right there, and there’s a breath on his neck and is that burning fish he smells and…

Spencer jerks awake, kicking the covers off of his legs and firmly planting his feet to the floor. He looks around franticaly because this isn’t his apartment, this isn’t his room so where the fuck is he? He grabs at his shirt and feels the old material and the faded Harvard Law logo and he suddenly remembers. He’s at Hotch’s house in his guest room and….

Hotch. 

Spencer scrambles out of bed and wrenches open the door. The short hallway is lit softly by a plug-in nightlight on the wall. Spencer moves quickly down the hallway to Hotch’s room, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s opening his door and stepping inside. 

The room is dark, and Hotch’s form is already moving on the bed from the door opening. He mumbles something, maybe a “Jack?” as he pushes himself up and rubs his eyes. 

“No it’s… it’s me.” Spencer’s voice is small and pathetic and he wants to curl in on himself. 

“Spencer?” There’s that confusion again. Hotch rubs his eyes. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Spencer almost opens his mouth and says “I had a nightmare where you kinda died and also my dead kind-of-girlfriend was there and it really freaked me out so my first instinct was to come to you.” But he just stands there, fiddling with the hem of the t-shirt and looking at Hotch sitting in the bed all rumpled and sleepy. 

Hotch shifts again. “Here, let me turn the light on.” He reaches over to the lamp on the bedside table. 

“No!” Spencer doesn’t mean to say it so loudly, but it shocks Hotch into freezing. “No, it’s… don’t turn the light on…”

Spencer doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he knows is he needs to feel Hotch, needs to hear his heartbeat and know that his skin is dry and not wet with blood. And it’s this need that pushes Spencer to walk deeper into the room and to Hotch’s bedside. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he can make out the shape of Hotch. Hesitantly, he reaches out and touches Hotch’s fingers with his own. Hotch doesn’t retract his hand

“You had a nightmare.” It’s not a question. 

“Mmhmm.” Neither men move. 

“What do you need?”

Spencer knows what Hotch is doing; he’s giving Spencer all of the power. He’s telling Spencer that whatever he needs, to take it. 

Without saying anything, Spencer moves and sits on the bed. He brings his arms and wraps them around Hotch, burying his face in Hotch’s shoulder. 

Hotch hesitates, because it’s not often Spencer initiates contact, especially with him. But it only takes Spencer’s body to start shaking for Hotch to put his arms around Spencer and pull him closer. 

Spencer is almost in Hotch’s lap, gripping him like he’s a lifeline. He’s not sobbing, or even crying; but the fear of the nightmare and the exhaustion catching up to him has elicited a physical response. His body shakes with tiredness, with fear, with the weight of being human. And Hotch holds him through all of it.

Neither knows how long they stay like that, wrapped up in each other unlike they ever have. But eventually, the shaking stops, and Spencer gently lifts his head from where it had made its home in Hotch’s neck. It hits him how close they are, how their bodies are molded together. Hotch is warm and solid and  _ right there _ and oh, Spencer wants to stay like this, bound to him, for just a little while longer.

And their faces are close, so close. They could almost feel each other’s breath as they exhaled. Almost on instinct, Spencer’s eyes flick to Hotch’s lips. Pink, soft-looking, right there. Spencer leans just a bit closer, as if there are magnets in the body attached to him.

Hotch leans closer too, their breaths mingling in the short distance between them. They are so close, Spencer’s lips tingle at the feeling of Hotch’s ghosting against his, when Hotch says, “Please don’t… don’t make me believe this can be real.”

Spencer leans back. “Why can’t this be real?”

“Because you can’t want me. You can’t. I don’t know what I would do if I could always have you this close. I think it would kill me.” He says this with his eyes closed, as if even looking at Spencer will cause him pain.

Spencer does not cry often; really, he doesn’t. But hearing Hotch’s heartbreak, hearing him trying to keep Spencer close while also pushing him away, brings tears to Spencer’s eyes.

“Hotch…”

“No, don’t.” Suddenly, Spencer is being moved, oh so gently, off of his perch on Hotch’s lap. He’s on the edge of the bed now, with about half a foot between him and the other man. His skin burns where Hotch had touched him. “Spencer, we shouldn’t be doing this. This conversation… JJ should have never told you. You shouldn’t have come.”

Anger burns in Spencer’s chest, hot and new and scary. He rubs his hands against his eyes, hoping the pressure will help organize the rapid thoughts rushing through his head. He shouldn’t have come? He should have just carried the confession in his chest until what? He died? Or when he got the inevitable news that Hotch had died alone, not knowing what Spencer knew?

“Did it ever occur to you to think about how I felt?” Spencer asks. Hotch still isn’t looking at him. His eyes are closed and focused on his lap. Spencer feels the anger grow that Hotch can’t even be bothered to look at him. “Hotch, do you think I would come all the way to fucking Colorado if I didn’t feel… something?”

That makes Hotch look up. He searches Spencer’s face, if only minutely. But a profiler knows how to spot another profiler, and he knows Hotch is looking for signs that he’s lying.

Spencer twists his hands anxiously. He wanted Hotch to look at him, to see him. But now that he was under his intense stare he feels himself wanting to be smaller. The anger and bravery he felt just a moment before has faded, replaced by uneasiness. “Did you think I would reject you?”

Hotch sighs. “I didn’t even let myself imagine a situation where I told you.”

And Spencer wants to cry, because it was so Hotch. Carrying that weight, that knowledge and those feelings and not doing anything about it, because happiness seems like an unattainable dream. They both knew from experience that nightmares were much easier to find.

“I wanted to be seen by you, to be known by you. Maybe it was love and I didn’t know it.” As soon as Spencer says it, he knows it’s true. He’s known love before, he thinks. It’s a warm feeling in your chest and the knowledge that you are safe with the other person. It’s late nights on the jet with tired smiles when everyone else is asleep. It’s being pulled close in a dark graveyard in Georgia. It’s sitting in a house in the dark after a nightmare feeling lighter than you have in years.

“Spencer–” Hotch starts, probably an excuse about how he’s too old, or too damaged, or how Spencer can somehow do better than him. But Spencer stops him in his tracks.

“Kiss me.”

Hotch’s eyes widen almost comically. “Kiss me,” Spencer says again. “Please. I can’t… I need you to know that this is real, and I don’t know what else to do.”

Hotch stares at him for a minute, as if he expects Spencer to change his mind in the seconds after he stopped talking. Hotch moves forward again, into Spencer’s space. They are sitting face to face now; Spencer’s legs are curled under himself and Hotch is kneeling back on his heels. Hesitantly, as if reaching to touch a sculpture or a painting, Hotch places his hand on Spencer’s knee. And there it is, that spark again. Spencer can barely contain a jump at the contact.

Hotch’s other hand rises and hangs in the air for a moment. His face is open and his eyes soft, gauging Spencer to see if he pushes away. Spencer only nods, and Hotch’s hand rests on Spencer’s cheek, his thumb grazing the skin under his eye. It’s something Spencer has always been conscious of, the dark bags under his eyes that seem permanent, unmoved and unchanged no matter how much he sleeps. But that is the last thing Spencer thinks about as Hotch’s large hand cups the side of his face.

The two men stay there for a moment, the only sound in the room that of them breathing. Hotch’s eyes do not leave Spencer's face, studying his features and the way they move. Spencer is staring just as intensely at Hotch, at his hair that he’s let grown out and the lines on his face. So different, and still so very much the man Spencer has looked to, has thought of as safety for years.

And it is that safety which pushes Spencer to say, for the third time, “Kiss me.”

And Hotch does.

It’s soft, reverent. When Hotch’s lips meet Spencer’s, all Spencer can think is “ _ Yes _ .” Yes, this is the man he’s been chasing for years. This is the man who knows him, who looks at him like he is something precious.  _ Yes, yes, yes. _

It’s a short kiss, and Hotch pulls away quickly. It was too short, for Spencer’s eyes didn’t even have the chance to close. But no, Spencer wants more. He wants that feeling again.

“Hotch?”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me again?”

And Hotch, Hotch laughs. He gives a laugh that makes his dimples come out and his eyes crinkle. And he kisses Spencer again.

And this kiss, Spencer throws his all into. One of his hands quickly finds its way to the side of Hotch’s neck, the other rests on his side, right on the strip of skin that his risen shirt has exposed. In response, Hotch’s hand migrates from Spencer’s knee to his back, and Spencer moves with him, going back into Hotch’s lap.

And this, this is where he was meant to be, in the arms of the man who loves him, who wants to hold him and see him. Hesitantly, Spencer opens his mouth, and Hotch dives in.

Hotch's hand moves from Spencer’s face to his hair, tangling his fingers in Spencer’s brown locks and giving a light tug. The sensation causes Spencer to moan, and Hotch releases his mouth to attach his lips to Spencer’s throat.

“Hotch…  _ Aaron _ , God.” Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants to touch Hotch everywhere, wants to pull him closer and into his body so there is no place where they do not touch.

“So beautiful… so so beautiful.” Hotch murmurs into the column of Spencer’s throat in between kisses. “Never thought… God you feel so good, Spencer. So good for me.”

The words make Spencer keen. He feels warm; not uncomfortably hot, not the kind of high temperature that makes you break out into a gross sweat. No, he feels the warmth that comes with happiness. He wants to chase that feeling, wants to chase Hotch and his touch, forever.

“Aaron…” he says his name like a prayer, whispering into the room as if he is wishing for something.

Hotch removes his mouth from Spencer’s throat to look him in the eye again. His eyes are bright and his mouth is pink and God, Spencer loves him. “What do you want? Anything, anything is yours.”

“I want… I want you.” It’s a simple request, but both men feel the weight of his words. At that moment, they know there is no going back to before. There is no brushing this off, of waking up tomorrow and pretending this never happened.

Hotch lets out a sigh that sounds suspiciously like his name as he presses his forehead against Spencer’s. His breath is heavy and his hands fall to Spencer’s waist. “Do you know how long I have waited for this?”

Spencer can’t help it, he smirks and says, “Why don’t you show me?”

And that’s it. With a growl, Hotch uses strength he has gone a long time without using to flip the two over, so Spencer is on his back with his head at the top of the bed with Hotch hovering over him, his arms bracketing Spencer’s head. Spencer’s mouth gapes open in shock, but he quickly recovers as he pulls Aaron’s head down to bring their lips together.

It’s bliss, true unfiltered bliss. Their legs are tangled like vines and their hands grapple with too many clothes, not enough skin. Soon, both shirts are removed, and they stare at each other. At their faces, changed by time, at their bodies marked by scars. There is silence, and then, “You are still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Tears prick in Spencer’s eyes, and he holds back a sob as Hotch buries his face again in Spencer’s neck, marking him with bruises. Once he has had his fill, he looks down at Spencer again, a question in his eyes: Are you sure?

Spencer’s hand cups Hotch’s face, who closes his eyes at the contact. Eyes blazing, voice steady, Spencer lets out one word: “Please.”

And Hotch, Hotch could not say no to Spencer, not in this lifetime or the next. And so, he descends.

XX

Hotch wakes up sore, like he had just run a marathon.

Though, the ache he feels is a lot different than when he actually ran a marathon. This soreness is welcomed, is less about the pain and more about the memory of movement.

He shifts, though he doesn’t get far when he realizes his arm is wrapped around something, or rather someone. Hotch opens his eyes, just enough for the sunlight warming his room to show the light brown highlights in Spencer’s hair. His face is burrowed into his pillow, but his limbs are enclosed around Hotch, keeping him in place.

Hotch can’t help the smile that graces his face. He thinks of all the times he woke up alone, both years ago and as recently as last week, reaching for a body that wasn’t there. Always, he was reaching for Spencer, no matter if it was across the country or across the bullpen. And now, he has reached him.

With great care, he lifts his arm so he can stroke a hand through Spencer’s hair. It’s tangled, probably from all the tugging he did a few hours before, and Hotch let’s his fingers move through the knots, lightly scratching his scalp.

“Of course you would still be an early riser,” comes a muffled voice from the pillow. SPencer’s voice is scratchy from sleep, and he moves slightly so he is facing Hotch. 

“It’s not that early,” is his soft reply, and his smile grows as Spencer’s eyes softly open. Hotch can feel a jolt of fear go through his stomach. What if Spencer regrets everything? What if he throws on his clothes and runs back to Quantico, leaving Hotch here all alone again?

Spencer must be able to sense his train of thought, because he takes Hotch’s hand from his hair and grasps it in his own, softly placing kisses on his fingers. With each kiss, there is a promise: I love you, I’m not going anywhere, This is real, I choose you over and over again.

And Hotch, Hotch has to pull Spencer into a kiss to keep from crying. 

Spencer returns it, but quickly moves away. “Do you know how many germs grow in your mouth during the night? Morning breath is the worst.”

Hotch laughs, settling for placing a kiss on the younger man’s forehead. This earns him a happy hum in response.

The two spend the next few minutes lazing in the bed, their bodies tangled around each other as each traces the marks made last night with the marks made from years of being knocked down and getting back up. But Hotch is antsy, Spencer can sense it.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I know you can’t stay forever, but can you maybe stay for breakfast?”

Spencer giggles, honestly giggles, and swings himself over so he’s on top of Hotch, leaning over him. The sheets and the blankets pool around his hips, exposing the bruises and marks littering his chest. “How about we talk about forever over breakfast?”

That gets Spencer a smile, and Spencer, as if pulled by gravity, descends.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment to let me know what you think! You can also follow me on Tumblr at blkantigone.tumblr.com!


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